


Divergence

by fleshlycherry



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Community: serenity_santa, F/M, M/M, crazy space incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:12:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleshlycherry/pseuds/fleshlycherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a universe for every possibility between Haven and Miranda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divergence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2005's serenity_santa exchange. Originally posted January 21, 2006.

**Obedience**

Simon stops for a second after swinging the cabin door in and open. Before coming to Serenity he’d not thought himself a confrontational man. He steels himself to end this game once and for all when Mal’s voice, angry and quiet, echoes up from the room below, “Whatever it is you were planning on doing, get in here and do it.”

Simon climbs down and turns to face Mal.

“Take—“

“If you’re here to get tetchy with me ‘bout your sister, I really don’t wanna hear it, Doc.”

Simon almost smiles as Mal interrupts him. Trust Mal to think he’d come here to continue their seemingly endless power struggles.

“Take off your clothes.” If Simon had thought Mal angry before, he had been wrong. Mal is angry now. He stands his ground though as the larger man advances on him.

“What did you just say to me? ‘Cause I sure as hell musta been mistaken.” Now Mal is close enough to touch, so Simon does. His fingers slowly travel up Mal’s arm, then over his shoulder to rest against the side of his neck. As Mal leans into the touch, Simon lets his thumb stroke over Mal’s lips. Mal starts out of his haze and thrusts Simon away from him, the younger man’s back making the ladder rattle as he collides with it. “I don’t take orders from anyone on this boat. Especially not you and especially not ‘bout that.”

“Take off your clothes.”

Mal comes forward to grab at Simon again. “Are you not hearing me at all, Doc?”

“You are going to take off your clothes, then you are going to take off mine, then you’re going to get on the bed.” The tension in Mal’s body grows with every word Simon speaks.

“And then?”

Simon finally gives into the urge to lean his hips into Mal’s and the other man’s answering shift against him silences any of Simon’s few remaining doubts.

“Then I’m going to fuck you.” Mal releases a long breath, ending in a hitch when Simon leans into him again, the taut muscles of his back relaxing.

Mal just nods. Simon steps back, separating his body from Mal’s. Mal had never expected this from Simon, and it’s hard for him to completely grasp the reality of the situation. He isn’t sure how exactly this is supposed to play out, but carefully, he undresses for Simon. First the suspenders; one strap then the other, then his shirt, clip by meticulous clip; he toes off his boots and pushes off his pants in one swift movement, fumbling as they catch around his feet before kicking them aside, finally and ever so slowly, he slides the shorts he wears underneath down his legs.

He advances on Simon, less confident than usual. Simon’s eyes seem to be everywhere on his body all at once. Mal shivers under that intense look of concentration; the one that Simon usually reserves for pulling bullets out of his crew.

His hands come to rest on Simon’s slim hips before slipping under Simon’s blue shirt. Mal’s fingers trail over the hard muscles of Simon’s stomach and chest as he pulls the fabric over Simon’s head and raised arms, careful to keep the embroidery from catching in his fine, dark hair.

Instead of falling back to his side, Simon’s hands cradles Mal’s face as the older man fumbles with the fastening of his pants, ignoring the dried blood smeared on his fingers. When the zipper finally gives, he looks back up and Simon’s mouth is inches from his own.

Simon’s mouth is soft, his tongue warm as it moves against Mal’s. With his hands on Mal’s shoulders Simon leads him to the bed. There is a gentle pressure then a whispered 'sit' without Simon taking his mouth from Mal’s. Mal, level with Simon’s abdomen, pushes Simon’s pants completely down and leans further to help the younger man step out of them.

Mal tries to pull Simon down over him, shifting up on the bed to make room, but Simon resists. His hands move over Mal’s shoulders, gently pressing him to turn over.

This is not what Mal wants.

Before his protest can make it past parted lips, Simon’s breath is against the back of his neck.

“In a few hours,” he carefully positions Mal on the bed, “if we’re still alive, you’re going to want to regret this.” Simon’s breath quickens at Mal’s low groan as he pushes into him. “It will be easier to pretend this didn’t happen if you don’t see my face.”

 

 **Albatross**

She is in his bunk when he arrives, adding just one more layer to the maelstrom of his emotions. He turns his back on her because it seems like the only thing to do. “Don’t want ya here.”

Skipping around him lightly, she smiles widely, “Don’t care.”

“Look, Albatross, I ain’t in the mood for you.” River ignores him, running her fingers over the clutter on his table. “Hey now, don’t touch that,” he says as her fingers slip over the old letter opener, sharp and bright. Her fingers skip quickly over its metal edge to settle on a cheap pen he’d filched from Badger.

“His blood was all over my hands.” Her soft puff of laughter fills the silence completely, “I can see you.” Mal leaps up from where he settled on his bed, and tries to stop the arc of plastic and silver toward her neck, but River is too quick. Her feet are braced wide for balance and her breath heaves as Mal gently pulls the pen digging into her neck out of her hand. A bright spot of blue and its faint comet tail rises and falls with every beat of her heart.

“I know y’can, River. And that’s ok by me.” His fingers rub at the ink on her skin, smearing it. His thumb is in his mouth and then back to her neck again before he can think not to. It slides easily over the mark, wet and cool, the ink long gone when he finally stops.

Her body is much closer than a moment ago, but he’s sure neither of them has moved. When she rises gracefully to her toes and leans in, with so little left to lose, letting it happen doesn’t seem like the mistake it used to. Her kiss is brief, just the corner of her mouth against his temple.

“You taste of symbols.” Mal’s fingers tighten around her waist, before he releases her with a sudden jerk. River reminds him too much of the old china dolls his Mama kept on her shelf -- they look sturdy enough to a little boy, but in reality they are too easy to break.

“We can’t do this, _mei-mei_.” He puts on his best mean old man face as he tries to convince a seventeen year old psychic that he doesn’t want her, despite the evidence in his mind and body to the contrary.

River’s head cocks to the side as he speaks, confusion clear on her face, “You aren’t Simon.”

“No,” he agrees, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “I ain’t.”

“It’s simple then,” she whispers, “Whatever it is you were planning on doing, get in here and do it.” There is a long moment where neither of them moves before Mal’s mouth presses against her brow, her closed eyes, her lips.

“How’s that, little bird?”

“It’s a start.”

 

 **Speak Its Name**

Simon has not slept deeply since River left for the Academy. It’s not a surprise to find himself awake two or three times during Serenity’s night. Sometimes it’s Mal’s almost silent footfalls that wake him as he roams the ship looking for an escape from his insomnia; sometimes it’s the Shepherd’s. Usually, it’s River.

He pushes the blankets off and rolls onto his feet. The air is cool against his bare skin; they turn the heat down at night, when everyone should be warm under blankets. His hand is on River’s door when he hears her voice again. He slides the door open and enters. He’s never had to knock, where she’s concerned.

He crosses the tiny room in two steps and she is instantly in his arms.

“ _Mei-mei_? Did you have a bad dream?”

She shakes her head, but burrows even closer into his chest.

“ _Mei-mei_ ,” He pulls her gently, tilting her face towards him, “River, look at me.” Her eyes search his face briefly before falling to where she pulls absently on a hangnail. His hand falls to cover hers. “Don’t do that River, you’ll make your finger bleed.”

She looks back up at him, “I missed you, Simon.” He can’t help but smile as he leans down to kiss her. Her lips are warm and slightly chapped, just as they always have been.

“I love it when you say my name,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against hers. River pulls back slightly and runs her cool fingers over his face.

“You shouldn’t worry, Simon.” Her lips quirk up at one end before she presses them quickly to his. “She always knows who you are.”

He is kissing her again; slow, careful kisses. And then she is kissing him back, hungry and forceful. They fall back onto her bed, hands and lips and tongues seeking all those lost, familiar places on each other’s bodies. Their breathing is deep and ragged, and they almost miss the sharp intake of breath that isn’t their own.

The door is closed and they’ve not been loud, but even slight noises from living creatures carry far in the symphony of shifting metal gears and engine hum.

They watch the shadow on the other side of the door. One hand is raised to slide it open, but stops as if frozen. Seconds tick by and still nothing. Finally, Simon gathers River into his arms and draws a steadying breath. “Whatever it is you were planning on doing, get in here and do it.”

Still the shadow does not move.

“Does he love her?” River’s voice shocks him, pulling his attention from the doorway. Carefully he shifts her limp body in his arms; her eyes are focused on the middle distance, unseeing. He gently smoothes long strands of hair away from her face.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Does she love him?” Simon glances back over his shoulder at their shadow watcher before returning his attention to River.

“Yes.”

She nods slowly, and when she looks back up, the glaze is gone from her eyes. “Miranda.”

“Yes, _mei-mei_ , we’re almost there.”

“She is going to hurt us, Simon. She’s going to hurt us and we’ll never recover.” River shivers and as Simon pulls a blanket around her, sobs.

Slowly, he rocks River, back and forth, back and froth.

“Don’t worry, _mei-mei_ , I’ll always take care of you.”

It’s is a long time before Simon looks back at the door. The shadow is gone.

“I know,” her words spread warmth across his neck, “But I don’t want to fly.”

 

 **Surrender**

Simon might tell himself that he doesn’t mean to do it. That, perhaps he’s stumbling, his arm flying wide to brace his fall. And if his palm lands on the door handle and his weight falls against it, swinging it open, then it really isn’t because he wants it to.

There is a light on below, a faint glow. One that says maybe the occupant of the room has fallen asleep while reading. It is not the light of ‘I’m awake, come in.’ He is going to leave; his body is turning away from the door, and he has almost managed to make his fingers slip off that first rung.

“Whatever it is you were planning on doing, get in here and do it.” It is an invitation. That’s what he will tell himself later; that Mal doesn’t think he might be Zoë, ready to argue with him--in private, the only place she ever will-- or Jayne, planning on doing something Jayne-like. So you see, it isn’t really his fault and somehow he’s at the bottom of the ladder before he even considers that Mal might be thinking he’s Inara.

Mal looks exactly as he did when they’d left Haven those few short hours ago.

“What d’you want?”

“I…I thought that…well…”

Simon notes with some interest that the floor of the captain’s bunk is very clean, but that his own shoes need to be polished.

“I got no patience for your stuttering right now; spit it out.”

Simon doesn’t look up; he just crosses the room, takes Mal’s face in his hands and kisses him. He isn’t forceful, but Mal’s answering kiss is. And then the clean floor is hard under his knees and his fingers are numb and ineffectual and red-brown with Book’s blood from Mal’s face as he tries to open the front of Mal’s pants.

“ _Cao_. You do it.”

Mal does and in moments his hands are back, running through Simon’s hard, gelled hair as he pushes into the wet heat of Simon’s mouth. He thrusts slow and deep and Simon’s cheeks hollow in the effort to take all of Mal in. He coughs once, when Mal pushes too far. His eyes water and he coughs again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Mal’s eyes are hooded as he brushes the hair out of Simon’s face before guiding Simon’s mouth back onto him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you back into it.”


End file.
